


Worrier and the Worried

by Sevi (KelSevi)



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelSevi/pseuds/Sevi
Summary: Forsyth takes it upon himself to care for Python.





	Worrier and the Worried

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Yayster and Save for enabling me.

Forsyth was always a worrier.

Ever since the two of them were little, Forsyth worried and worried and worried. Being boys, the two got into scrapes more times than they could count: either on the inane adventures the fledgling knight took his lazy best friend on; their constant quarrels and arguments; or sometimes a mixture of the two. But no matter the cause, any time something showed up on Python that probably shouldn’t, Forsyth would come to his rescue and try to ‘help’ the only way he knew how.

That didn’t necessarily mean he was _good_ at it, however.

Morning, at the crack of dawn. Probably five AM sharp, if Forsyth had to make a guesstimate. His internal clock was impeccable and, every day at the exact same time with the exact same excited vigor, he was up and about, buzzing around camp looking for breakfast, his comrades, and a chance to train. Today looked like it would be no different, as the first feeble rays of sunlight flitted across the grass between the rows of tents set all up and down the plains.

He woke up, sat up, stretched his arms and back, and glanced to his side. Laying in a heap beside his cozy little bed (which, really, only consisted of a blanket and a hard roll of cloth for a pillow) was, of course, the man he shared his own tent with - Python.

Python did not wake up early. In fact, he rarely woke up before noon if left on his own, and that was ignoring the fact that he was more of a night owl than an early bird. So, knowing this, Forsyth was always more than eager to nudge (or, in some cases, throttle) his best friend awake and drag him out to give him a jumpstart on his day. At least, that was the plan; usually, the poor guy was falling back asleep on his feet the second he was left alone. A terrible thing, that, but perhaps if he _wanted_ to have a good night’s rest, he should think twice about staying up long nights with the other soldiers, drinking the night away. (Grumble, grumble.)

Without further ado, Forsyth reached over and placed a hand on Python’s back. He flinched immediately, and drew the equally-inadequate blanket he had tighter to him.

...Huh, that’s strange. Was Python already awake? Blinking, he tested the waters with a low voice.

“Good morning, Python. I’m surprised to see you already awake.”

He did not move, other than to raise his hand and wave him off. “Mornin’.” Something didn’t seem quite right about the clogged tone with which he responded, but he was probably still sleepy. Forsyth sat up straighter, neatly peeled off his blanket, and then pushed himself up to his feet with effort.

“Since you’re awake,” he started, stepping off to a corner of the tent to shed his night clothes starting with his shirt, “how about you get dressed? We can go to the mess tent and eat ourselves some gruel.”

Python, still laying on his side, dropped his hand and grunted. “I’d rather sleep in.”

“You know I can’t let you do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” the archer’s voice gurgled, and he cleared it - suspiciously quickly. Forsyth, in the middle of slipping his arms out of his shirt, glanced back at the lump. Squinting, he dropped the fabric to the side and set his hands firmly on his hips.

“... Python, is there something you’re not telling me? It’s strange enough that you don’t seem to be--”

He scarcely had the time to finish his thought before a loud, sharp noise interrupted him. A painful sound, that started and ended with an “ah,” and a “choo.” And Forsyth immediately knew what that meant, for better or for worse.

“You’re…”

“Don’t you dare say it,” the Python lump snapped, though it was far too late to salvage the situation.

“You’re _sick!_ Oh, Python, why didn’t you say something?” Suddenly, the soldier’s mind was awhirl with a flurry of thoughts, all of which poisonous this early in the day; worry and concern, slight annoyance that Python wouldn’t tell him, and a giddy desire to help all bubbled up in the back of his mind and around the fringes of his chest. Ignoring his shirtlessness, he tromped right over and squatted down in front of him so he could get a better look.

To his credit, Python did not fight Forsyth on this. Now that the jig was up and he wouldn’t be able to so easily sneak into the med tent and drug himself up on medicine until he could no longer feel the pounding behind his eyes (or, well, anything at all), he let out a groan and dropped the blanket from around his face. There was a pallor to his skin, seen clearly even in spite of the dark tent, and he looked all sorts of messy and warm in all the wrong places. Touching Python’s cheek with the back of his hand confirmed it - he had fever. His hand wasn’t there long, though-- Python quickly batted it away to cover his face, or more specifically, his nose.

“Y’got me,” he huffed, muffled and nasally, “I’m a little under the weather. But that doesn’t mean you gotta--”

“Doesn’t mean what? This is very serious, Python.” “No it’s not.” “It is! You look as though you’ve caught death itself!” “ _Just_ a cold, Forsyth. You don’t need to lose your head over--”

“Nonsense!” (A declaration louder than need be, possibly, but nonetheless very Forsyth-y.) “I know exactly what to do; stay right there! And don’t move a muscle! Er, most of your muscles. Some of them are-- anyway! I’m off!” The eagerest little soldier, fuelled by sudden need of want, blasted out of the tent before Python had the chance to catch him. Still, he had to try, and tossing his body upright, he cupped his hands around his face and yelled, “ _YOU’RE HALF-NAKED!!_ ”

…

...Forsyth slunk back into the tent to properly dress himself moments later.

 

 

・・・

 

 

“You ought to eat.”

Python grimaced at the thought. He normally enjoyed himself when dinner was served (and often tried to sneak a second or third helping if he could) but now, at a little past noon time, the last thing he wanted on his mind was something else weighing down his stomach.

He hadn’t left the tent at all that day, thus far. Why bother? The second Forsyth was out (the second time) he had blabbed to Clive and Alm about his state, and surely about half the camp knew by now. Silque had come by, but his tired scowl must have scared her off. Or maybe it was his less-than-kind words to her? Not that he meant to be; his patience was simply shorter today of all days, no thanks to the pounding in his head and the constant leak of his eyes and nose. At least she was kind enough to leave several handkerchiefs.

Oh, and there was Forsyth too. Naturally.

“Come now, Python. I’m foregoing training to ensure you’re healthy,” commented the soldier (or should he say, make-shift nurse?) as he approached Python holding a tray of… well, probably good-smelling foods. He couldn’t tell.

The tray was set down on the ground beside him, and Python eyed what was made. Looked to be some tea, broth, and medicine. “I ain’t so sure I want any of that in my system right now, Fors,” he rasped, which tickled his throat and caused him to cough a couple times.

“ _That_ is exactly why you must,” Forsyth persisted, and he gently took the tea to offer. “Drink this. Silque told me it would help with your throat.”

Again, Python made a face, which in turn made Forsyth frown disapprovingly. And, of course, some of the worst faces Forsyth could make were the disapproving ones. (Reminded him too much of his dad, they did.) So, letting out only the heaviest of sighs, he took the tea cup in his hands and sipped.

Fairly, it didn’t taste godsawful. Not exactly his PREFERRED choice of drink, but Gods know no one would afford him an ale now. “... Ugh.”

“Haha! See? I told you.” Forsyth’s face lit up, disgustingly chipper. If Python had any less restraint (or, to be more specific, any more motivation) he might have splashed the other’s face with the tea. “Now, the medicine.”

“At least that’s bearable,” he muttered, and then cleared his voice again as the tea saturated his throat. The tea cup was taken out of his hands, and in their place was another cup, filled with a very unappetizing green sludge. Handed to anyone else, they might as well have emptied whatever contents lay in their stomach. And so too might Python, if he didn’t register what it was immediately.

“I will never understand your taste for that stuff,” Forsyth quipped as the archer sipped it with less reluctance in his movements than usual. “What was that saying? ‘Medicine isn’t supposed to taste good,’ or something along those lines?”

Python snorted, swallowed thickly, and set the medicine down so he could wipe his face with one of his many handkerchiefs. “Aye,” he sniffed, “but some of us have learned to adapt. Can’t hate what tastes good t’ya, right? Can’t speak for _some_ of us, though.”

Forsyth shook his head. “Well, whatever. I’m not complaining, so long as you’re getting it down.” Then, he smiled, softer than he had before. “Eat what you can, and I’ll get you some wet towels for your fever.”

“ _Yes,_ ma,” he croaked, which told him it was time to drink some more tea. The broth could wait; he wanted it cold, anyway.

 

 

・・・

 

 

“Hggkk--choo!”

“Bless you.”

“Hh… hah… nngh… ah--choo!”

“Bless you again.”

A miserably useless sniffle, and Python was back to laying down. Every so often he would go quiet and doze off, but then start back up again with sneeze after sneeze, or a cough that wouldn’t quit. It was an unfortunate affair, especially as Forsyth watched him battle both just to get some shuteye. Upon his insistence, he told the others earlier that he would be more than enough to care for Python, and that it was for the best they let him.

“Surely, you should ask Silque for assistance,” Clive had protested, but Forsyth was quick to reply.

“I appreciate the suggestion, sir, but Python is a very special case. He will not let anyone near him but me; it would be best if I took the day off to ensure he regains his health in the swiftest of time!”

“Ah, yes, but…” Clive trailed off, and Alm (perhaps taking pity on Python) pitched in, “I think that sounds like a fine idea, but I still think you should ask Silque for help. Um, just in case! She’s a healer, after all; she can probably make some herbal remedies.”

“Truly?” He’d frowned then. “... Well, if it is what our sire wants. I’ll employ Silque’s help-- but just you watch, I’ll have him fit and ready for the battlefield again lickity-split!”

Clive gave him a smile that said he was more than lost, but Alm seemed to understand, and he chuckled as the knight-to-be dashed out of the tent quick as lightning.

… Now, however, he was not so sure of himself. After Python settled down, Forsyth drifted from his lamp-lit spot where he had previously been reading (some chronicle tome, just to pass the time) to the bedside.

His voice was gentle, or as gentle as he could make it given his normally-boisterous attitude. “Python? Are you all right?”

The response was not only obvious, but expected. “Do I sound all right to you?”

“No, I… suppose not. Do you need anything? A drink? Medicine? A change of to--”

“What I NEED, Forsyth,” he griped, “is for you to leave me ALONE. Can’t I have a damned moment to myself without you hovering over me all the time like some mother hen!?”

Oh, that stung. Forsyth flinched, sucked in a quick breath, and held. Was… Python angry at him? For taking care of him? “... What would you rather I have done? Let you wallow in your own filth?”

Python shot a pointed glare at him. It earned him a pout in return. “If you think I would have turned my cheek and allowed my best friend to suffer in silence, then you must not know me very well.”

“Sometimes I wish I _didn’t_ know you so well.”

“But you do.”

“Forsyth, could you _please_ just buzz off? You’re in my, my… m-my space.” (Fuckin’ hell, his eyes were watering again.)

His chest puffed out indignantly, like he was ready to say fine, why even bother, and storm out of the tent, but… no part of his conscience would allow that. So instead he sighed heavily, shook his head, and trudged back to his makeshift table to continue reading.

The air grew heavy and tense between the two, for seemingly no good reason at all. And so it remained for a solid couple of minutes, only interrupted by further sickly noises by Python, before it was him who broke the silence.

“... Hey. Forsyth?”

“Hm.”

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry.” (He cleared his throat. It felt sickeningly wet. Ugh.) “I’m… you know. Not feelin’ at my best.”

“I can see that,” Forsyth responded, his eyes not leaving the page of the book he wasn’t even reading.

Python clicked his tongue, frustrated. Don’t do this to him now, Forsyth… “Look. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you doin’ this. Really, I do. But sometimes you, y’know…”

“I, what?” His eyes flicked upward, and then back at his book. He could never quell his curiosity for long.

“You’re… pushy.” Wait, that sounded bad. “Or, uh, more like… overbearing. Stuffy. You get what I mean?” That sounded no better. Shit.

Forsyth was quiet for a moment, then he shut his book and set it down. “You think I’m… overbearing?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I know you mean well.” Through all the pounding of his brain, he scrounged up all the words he needed to perform damage control. “But sometimes all I need is to… y’know. Tough it out. And havin’ you loom over me at every waking moment ain’t helpin’ me get better.”

“I, I see.” Not quite a shaken tone, but not exactly the most pleased, either. Once again, Forsyth abandoned his reading corner to approach Python, and he carefully laid himself down next to him. One arm was set behind him so he could lean back on it, and the other rested on his side. Python’s eyes never left Forsyth, but he could read the pose; it usually meant that things were about to get cozy.

Forsyth took a moment to find his words. “You know I never intended to hurt you, Python. You know how I worry about you.”

“I do know,” he confirmed.

“So I want to do my very best for you. Even if my best isn’t enough. Or, in this case, too much,” and to that he smiled. Seeing Forsyth find humor in even this situation, Python mirrored the smile weakly. “But, if that truly does bother you, I think I can see fit to making a few changes in my approach. Does that make you feel better?”

Just hearing Forsyth consider laying off of him lifted a weight from his chest he didn’t even know existed. His tired smile turned into a tired grin, and half-lidded eyes lidded just a tad less at the news. “Loads. Thanks for hearin’ me out.”

“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t-- oomfph!?”

Ah, Python dropped his whole weight against Forsyth’s body. Alarm first shocked his system, then froze his veins, but when he realized that Python was still awake and fine he let out his breath and held the poorer man’s cheek with his palm. “Tired, are we?”

“Mmh,” was all he could really muster. Lanky arms snaked around Forsyth’s body, and he pulled himself closer so he could press himself against the heavier of the two.

“Ha ha ha.” He wasn’t the most comfortable person to be cuddling up with, right now; the second Python’s face hit his chest, he felt an intense warmth, like a furnace flaring up as it was fed coals. But, Python didn’t seem like he was budging, and it wasn’t like Forsyth had anywhere else to go that night, so…

Together they laid, the worrier and the worried, with only the distant sound of crickets and heavy breathing to fill up the silence that fell between the two. But this time, it was a comfortable silence, and one that invited a loving calmness. Before long, Python’s already-waning grip released entirely, and he slipped into dreamland with a deafening snore. Forsyth couldn’t help a cheeky grin as he watched Python enjoy his rightfully-earned snooze.

Tomorrow would bring more challenges, old and new. But for now, Forsyth could say he worried just a little bit less.


End file.
